Giving Up the Guns
by magic-carpet
Summary: When Calleigh is left helpless after her abduction, Eric is there to assure her that she can remain strong and give up her control to someone else, who she loves and trusts. E/C, oneshot.


Author: Lilly

Title: Giving Up Control

Pairing: Eric/Calleigh

Summary: When Calleigh is left helpless after her abduction, Eric is there to assure her that she can remain strong and give up her control to someone else, who she loves and trusts.

A/N: I was feeling a little HipHuggerish after 'All In,' so here it is, folks! Please R/R, because you all know how awesome it is to get reviews!

**Giving Up the Guns**

As long as I can remember, I've worked with guns. From high school in the shooting range with my dad, to college, working towards a degree in law enforcement, and then as Ballistics expert at the Miami Dade Crime Lab, guns have been my specialty. Guns carry a feeling of power with them; they give the carrier the power over human life, over their own and the lives of those around them. However, guns are often misused, because power is often misused. The last time I checked, the victim was killed by a gunshot wound in 68 of all murders. People feel that guns are there for leisure, or protection, but here's my theory: when people say they need this 'protection,' they mean that they need it against other gun users. I take pride in carrying my own gun, and I take care of it as if it contained my own life. In a way, it does. My gun is my life, or at least a shield protecting it. Faced with the troubles and the dangers I face every day, my gun is extremely important, and often saves my life, and the lives of the innocent. My gun gives me power, it gives me control, and keeps me in control of every situation I'm put in. I always have to be in control.

I've always hated actually firing my gun, however. People would think that I would enjoy firing it, being such a control-freakish gun person, that maybe I would feel at peace while practicing. But I don't think anyone can feel good when they shatter the air with a shot, an explosion that normally would fire a killing sphere, a tiny and deadly speck into something, whether it be a target, or a block, or a person. I do feel at some sort of ease when I am firing, but it's only because I've gotten used to the explosion, because when I'm firing my gun in the lab or a range, I know that it means that I'm getting more and more accurate, and providing more and more safety for when I actually have to use it. Either way, I'd rather use it for persuasion than killing. For control and reassurance rather than actual defense.

One might think that after seven years in MDPD, five in ballistics, and more than I can count just dealing with guns from day to day, I'd be accustomed to seeing them. After all, my colleagues and I all carry them, and every officer in the field does, and most criminals do. But even when my own is on my belt, I still cringe when I stare down the barrel of one. At the end, and the users will, is my life, which can be taken away from me with the twitch of a finger. A thought, an intention that drives through the brain and down to the hand and through the finger, pulling the trigger. It's not as hard as people say, though there is a kick to some guns. But anyone can pull it. Especially from two feet away, point blank. It's certain death.

I was only held in captivity for one day. The only injuries I sustained were a kick to the abdomen and a punch in the face. I walked away from it, with only minor bruises, the tears, and the bitter memories. All I received were threats, as I was held at gunpoint many times, but not once did my captor, Seth, actually fire the gun, and not once did I feel completely convinced that I was going to die. On only one occasion did the thought come to mind at all, but every other time, I knew that it was for nothing more than control, that he didn't actually intend on killing me. And when I did fear for my life, it was only because he was enraged, and kicked and hit me before pointing the gun at my face.

After all that I've been through, an event such as this, where I was led away by my team, embracing me and telling me how much they cared about me, where I was barely injured and nothing extremely traumatic occurred, should seem like nothing. I've been through worse. The breakup with Peter, his hospitalization after the lab was brought under fire, a bullet to the chest, even with a vest, at a crime scene shootout, losing Speed a few years back, Horatio and Eric going to Brazil and risking their lives to catch Riaz and the worry and anxiousness I suffered through back here in Miami, Eric's bullet to the head and near-death experience, and all along, I was still going strong, the solid, unfazed Calleigh. I take pride in my strength and the ability to be strong for others even when I'm hurting inside. And I didn't suffer from any aftereffects from my captivity. I didn't have any pain, I didn't have to take medication, and I was invited back to work whenever I wanted to go. I was fine.

But I couldn't sleep. Anxiety took over, and I couldn't stop thinking. Sometimes I thought back to my captivity, sometimes about work, sometimes about my team and what they thought about me taking so much time off. I took a total of three weeks and two days off, until one day I woke up and decided to call Eric. I hadn't taken any visitors since my abduction, and I answered no one's calls. Eric came over within ten minutes. I was sitting in the kitchen, which had become a mess, against the refrigerator. My clothes were old, loose jeans and a white t-shirt, and my hair was messy. I wasn't wearing any make-up, and I was crying.

The door was locked, but he had a key, and he quietly entered. He saw me right away, on the floor, my face streaked with tears. He didn't say anything, only closed the door and came and sat down beside me. We sat in silence for a while, and I held back my tears.

"You can cry, Cal."

I lay my head on his shoulder and wept, my tears soaking into his shirt. He put his arms around me and kissed my head, holding me against him as I sobbed into his shoulder. We sat in silence once again, until finally I stopped crying. I wiped my face with my shirtsleeve. I hated to be seen like this in front of him, but at the same time I was comfortable, because I knew he was one of the few people in the world that wouldn't judge me. No one on my team would.

"I'm sorry, Eric. I hate to be like this with you," I managed.

He rubbed my back gently, caressing my shoulder blades. "I understand, but I'm here for you. You can be whatever or whoever you want with me."

I choked out a laugh. "I want to be Calleigh Duquesne. Not this pathetic, broken down little girl. This isn't me."

"Calleigh, this is you. It's not the you that you put forward, but it's still you. Everyone is allowed to show pain, even someone as tough as you."

I smiled at him. "I just don't want to look like I can't be who I used to be. But then again, I don't know how to be who I used to. I've lost part of myself, Eric."

"You haven't lost yourself," he said, "you've just misplaced a part of you."

"I don't know what to do. I can't think straight, I can't do anything, and I can't be who I used to be." Silent tears tricked down my cheeks. "I'm sorry, I can't stop crying."

Eric continued to rub my neck, holding my body close to his.

"I lost all sense of control when he took me," I started, "and it was horrible. I have to be in control, and suddenly, he had control over everything. He could have killed me at any time, if he wanted to."

"But he didn't," Eric cut in. "He didn't, thank God, and you're okay."

"But that feeling, of losing my control… it hasn't gone away."

I always had to be in control, it was the way I worked. I never broke down, I never showed any pain, I was always strong and motivated and totally in-control. Losing that, all in a day, left me feeling empty and like I had nothing left to do, as if a cloud of depression and uneasiness had settled down on me and it wouldn't leave. Part of it was fear. In the warehouse, when he was kicking me, and pointed the gun at my face, I realized how much control over my life he had. I could have died, right there, if he had chosen to pull the trigger.

I was crying again.

"Calleigh?" Eric said gently. "Cal, it's okay. I'm here, and it's all okay."

I sniffled again, burying my face in his chest. He continued to rub my back, his strong arms around me. "Take me back there," I said, my voice muffled by his shirt.

"What?" he asked.

"I want to go back, to the warehouse. And if we can, the apartment."

"Calleigh, I'm don't think… are you sure?"

I nodded, looking into his eyes. He looked into mine and kissed my forehead again. "Alright, I'll drive."

On the way there, I stared out the window. I noticed the sun beating down on Miami, the gorgeous landscape. It was a beautiful day. I had been locked up in my condo for so long that I forgot what it was like to be outside, to be in the beautiful open air. I had reverted into myself, and refused to come out of my shell for too long. Because I felt I didn't have control over myself anymore, I had given up living, and I wasn't sure I wanted it anymore. I wanted to get back to living.

Eric walked me in, holding my hand. The crime scene had been cleared away, but I still remembered everything. Each click of the gun, each time I was forced to remove the evidence from a dead man's body, and each horrible, fitful and fearful time Seth had held the gun to my head and assured me he would kill me. I had stood against the wall planting the fingerprints for the team and thinking about how I had no power over the situation, how it was up to Horatio, Eric, Ryan and Natalia to find me. I couldn't escape. He had me.

"Calleigh, you okay?"

Eric. I turned around. He was worried about me, as I had ended up against the wall where I had stood, tracing along the wall, mesmerized. He came up beside me. "If you want to be alone, tell me."

"I'm okay," I said.

But putting faith in my team, my friends, wasn't hard, I thought. They were there for me through everything, and I trusted them to find me. They had done it. They always did, always managed to help me and be there for me when I needed them.

"I'm okay."

I turned around and looked at Eric, into his eyes, and knew that he was always there for me. He cared about me, as I did about him, and he always had my back. As if on cue, he leaned down and kissed me, and I kissed back. I let him have the control that day, and have entrusted it in him ever since.

"I love you, Cal," he said, between hungry kisses. I pulled back for a second, shocked and excited and happy all at once.

Sometimes being totally in control wasn't necessary. It was okay to give it up to someone else for a while. I trust Eric to be in control for me, as I do with the rest of the team. I'm not alone, and I don't have to be. I have him there for me. He always will be. If I ever can't do so, he'll hold the gun for me for a little while.

"I love you too."


End file.
